Lyrics of Priča O Vasi L. - Đorđe Balašević

Priča O Vasi L. (original)

Znate l' priču o Vasi Ladačkom?
I ja sam je, tek onomad čuo
Jednom devet dana nije, izlazio iz birtije
Kažu da je bio, čudna sorta…
Otac mu je bio sitni paor
'ranio je, sedam gladnih usti'
Mati mu je bila plava, tiha, nežna, jektičava
Umrla je s' trideset i nešto…
Imali su par jutara zemlje
Malu kuću na kraju sokaka
Na astalu mrve hleba, taman tol’ko kol’ko treba
Al' je Vasa hteo, mnogo više…
Želeo je konje vrane, po livadi razigrane
Sat sa zlatnim lancem i salaše…
Želeo je njive plodne, vinograde blagorodne
U karuce pregnute čilaše
Ali nije mog’o, da ih ima
Voleo je lepu al' sirotu
Uz’o bi je, samo da je znao:
Voleš jednom u životu, sad bogatu il' sirotu
To ne bira pamet, nego srce…
Sve se nad’o da će ljubav proći
Zanavek je otiš'o iz sela
Nikad nije pis’o nikom, venč'o se sa miraždžikom
Jedinicom ćerkom, nekog gazde…
Dobio je konje vrane, po livadi razigrane
Sat sa zlatnim lancem i salaše…
Dobio je njive plodne, vinograde blagorodne
U karuce pregnute čilaše
Sve je im’o, ništa im’o nije
Propio se, nije proslo mnogo
Dušu svoju, Ðavolu je prod’o
Znali su ga svi birtaši, tražio je spas u čaši
Ali nije mog’o, da ga nađe…
Mlad je, kažu, bio i kad je umro
Sred birtije, od srčane kapi
Klonula mu samo glava, k’o da drema, k’o da spava
I još pamte šta je, zadnje rek’o…
Džaba bilo konja vranih, po livadi razigranih
Džaba bilo sata i salaša…
Džaba bilo njiva plodnih, vinograda blagorodnih
Džaba bilo karuca, čilaša…
Kada nisam s onom koju volem
Znate l' priču o Vasi Ladačkom?
I ja sam je tek onomad čuo
Čak i oni slični njemu, kada razmisle o svemu
Kažu da je bio, čudna sorta.

(translation)

Do you know the story about Vasa Ladacki?
I only heard it then
Once, for nine days, he didn't leave the bar
They say he was, a strange variety…
His father was a petty paor
'wounded, seven hungry mouths'
His mother was blonde, quiet, gentle, jealous
She died at thirty-something…
They had a couple of acres of land
A small house at the end of the alley
There are just as many loaves of bread left over
But Vasa wanted, much more…
He wanted crow horses, playful across the meadow
Clock with gold chain and farm…
He wanted fertile fields, noble vineyards
In the carts bent chilas
But he couldn't have them
He loved the beautiful or the poor
He would have taken it, if only he had known:
You love once in a lifetime, now rich or poor
It is not the mind that chooses, but the heart…
He hoped that love would pass
He left the village forever
He never wrote to anyone, he married a mirage
Unit daughter, some boss…
He got crow horses, playful across the meadow
Clock with gold chain and farm…
He got fertile fields, noble vineyards
In the carts bent chilas
He has everything, he has nothing
He got drunk, it didn't take long
He has sold his soul to the Devil
All the bartenders knew him, he sought salvation in a glass
But he couldn't find it…
He was young, they say, even when he died
In the middle of the bar, from a heart attack
Only his head sank, as if asleep, as if asleep
And they still remember what it was, the last thing he said.
In vain were horses crowed, playful across the meadow
Free hours and farms…
In vain were the fields fertile, the vineyards noble
In vain was a cart, a chilash…
When I'm not with the one I love
Do you know the story about Vasa Ladacki?
And I only heard it then
Even those like him, when they think about everything
They say he was, a strange sort.